The Knots In Our Laces
by Rashaka
Summary: J/A in season 4, episode by episode. In chapter 6, Troy shows his heart, Annie pursues a friend, Abed smells something funny in the state of Denmark, and Jeff faces his leitmotif.
1. The Knots In Our Laces

**NOTES**: J/A in Season 4, starting with episode 1.

* * *

_Previously, on **Community**: Jeff takes some courses over the summer to pad his GPA for an early graduation; Abed relapses into a third level of reality perception but is saved by a Winger speech he imagines for himself; Britta gets a new pair of glasses and curses the eye doctor for supposedly inflating her prescription; Pierce sits on his nuts again; Annie pretends she's a world-famous detective married to Zac Efron; Craig Pelton rents the apartment next door to Jeff's; Troy takes a scary phone call from his grandmother; and Kevin crawls out of a tank of fish._

* * *

**.**

**The Knots In Our Laces**

**.**

"You're still mad at me," says Jeff, following in her trail like a penitent bloodhound. Annie goes right, he goes right. She goes straight and to the left; Jeff goes straight and only has to veer slightly left because of his gargantuan stride. It's Friday of the opening week of her senior year, and Annie is not a hundred percent sure she's ready to forgive Jeff for breaking up the Spice Girls.

"Annie, it's been three days. You never hold grudges this long."

"Shut up, Posh Spice," says Annie, and skips over a curb on the way to the bus stop, hating that her vehicle is having its transmission fixed this week. Troy and Abed don't get out of class for another two hours, so it doesn't seem worthwhile to wait on their ride. She spots the plastic-enclosed benches just ahead, and wonders when Jeff will give up begging in favor of bribery.

He stops in front of her, a wall of high-grade cotton that obscures the bus stop from sight. "Let me give you a ride, at least. You're acting like I'm Pierce or something! Except no, wait, you've forgiven Pierce for much worse."

Flipping her hair back and readjusting her backpack straps, Annie shuffles her weight from foot to foot and ponders giving in to the enemy or facing a twenty-seven minute wait in a blazing September afternoon. "You're just trying to get on my good side," she says, "So you can let yourself off the hook for being a crummy friend."

"My car's right over there, you can berate me on the way."

Annie looks to the sky, then looks immediately away because it is criminally bright out here. She isn't fond of the Friday bus driver; he appears to be on the verge of sleep every time she gets aboard.

"Okay, you can take me home. But don't assume this means you're forgiven, Jeremy Piven."

Jeff smirks and gestures in the direction of his chariot. "I'm surprised you know who that is."

"I've got layers," she retorts, and marches toward his Lexus.

* * *

In the car, on the boulevard toward Apartment Trobedison (her suggested moniker), Annie picks minuscule fuzz balls off her backpack and endeavors to be completely cool. About everything. Or nothing. Or—whatever. Why isn't he talking?

"So you're already planning your life without us," she says, and promptly winces because it smacks of a bitterness.

Jeff jerks his stick shift into gear for the upcoming stop light, and eyes her sideways. "I know I hurt everyone's feelings, but aren't you all taking this way too seriously? I'm not leaving you guys. I can't stop being friends with you after we defrocked Chang and fought in a pillow war together. Remember when we were expelled last spring? I was there the whole time, buying pizza I never even ate."

"You _didn't_ fight in the pillow war," points out Annie.

The path ahead is green again, and he accelerates. "Every history book needs a double agent. It makes things exciting."

Leaning her head against the glass, Annie thinks about how exciting her life is going to be in five months, or eight, or even a year. A tiny, traitorous thought wriggles through her mind, whispering that perhaps she isn't mad at Jeff, merely jealous of him.

"I hope you go on happily with your exciting life after Greendale, then." She sees him roll his eyes, and moments later they're parking in a visitor spot. Annie expects him to stay in idle while she gets her bag, but Jeff uncurls himself from the driver's side and comes around the car to walk beside her.

They're silent for the ride up the elevator, until Jeff confesses: "It's going to be dull. My life, I mean. I'll be happy to start making income again, but I've never seen a law firm with five annual dances and an in-house laser tag system."

Annie's face goes all traitorous then, smiling and being wistful when she ought to be cloaked in anger. "Or a secret society that extorts innocent prodigies."

Jeff chuckles; it's brief and alluring. "Oh, there's plenty of those," he confesses. "More than you'd guess. Last time I counted, I belong to four. Probably still do."

She steps from the elevator, and he follows. Curious, Annie asks, "Can you really cheat on one secret society with another like that? Aren't they going to be mad when they find you out?"

"Well, one was just a glorified mailing list. The rest probably expect some level of duplicity as a matter of the profession."

Stopping in front of her door, Annie leans against it and watches him, letting the whole picture sink in. Jeff's hair is immaculately styled, a little shorter than he usually likes it. He's probably hoping it will grow in before anyone notices. His slacks are dark blue, almost black, and he's wearing a pale grey button down shirt, nearly silver in the lights of the Trobedison hallway. Jeff had worn a suit jacket earlier but that's back in the car, folded carefully on the seat behind the passenger side. He looks...Annie has to bite her lip, because he looks how he always does to her.

She's supposed to be mad at him for the betrayal and the abandonment and all that, but it's hard when he does things like rescuing her from the bus stop and walking her to her door. When did he start caring enough to do that? Was it between planning parties with Abed and going out to lunches with Shirley? Between teaching Troy how to drive stick and letting Britta borrow his old TV?

"Jeff," she says, but the question that slips out isn't the one she'd planned to ask. "What do you want?"

From your career. From life after Greendale. From us.

Jeff moves to lean one shoulder on the door as well, facing her a few inches away. "It's always the hard questions with you, isn't it?"

Annie can't decide where to stare, so she finds the spot where his clavicle meets his shirt collar. "They're not all hard questions."

Worried that response is not enough, that maybe she has to defend her statement though she isn't sure how, Annie adds, "Some questions are easier than others."

There's nothing but silence from Jeff, then more silence, until Annie's _really _afraid to look up. She's done it again—cornered Jeff Winger into a personal conversation he doesn't want to have. Any second now he'll run down the hallway like those men from _Inception_, escaping the crazy person trying to put thoughts into his brain. Or maybe he's still standing here because he's met someone, and he's nervous but he wants to tell the group so of course he's going to start with Annie. Annie is the nice one. Annie won't judge him too harshly, or interrogate the stranger, or do anything but wish for a friend's happiness. Even knowing that he's gonna jump ship before the three-hour-tour of Greendale is complete, Annie would try the most out of any of them.

"You're right," Jeff says above her. Annie feels his fingers tuck her hair behind her ear, and she wants to breathe but the hallway has filled with water and god she _hated_ that movie. Troy was right, it makes no sense when you take it apart; the men in suits are all the same, and—

Jeff's light touch, Jeff's voice, Jeff's presence as he gives back her words: "You're right, as usual. Some questions are easy to answer."

And still there's no moment for a breath, no quarter, because Jeff has blocked her oxygen with a kiss. His hands slide up to her cheeks and Annie's fingers find that spot where his shirt lays against his collar bone. Everything feels different from last time: that was a thrill of being someone older, braver than herself. Now there's warm urgency and an ardent gasp as her back presses into the wooden door. Jeff tastes like coffee and he's not as careful as usual because this time around Annie can feel honesty on the brink of each kiss. There's a little more fraying around the edges—his edges—and she wonders what will happen if she pulls one of those invisible threads.

From the way Jeff is holding her, Annie intuits that she can unravel him completely with just the right tug. They've come full circle, friendship giving way to passion as if the last two years have never happened. It's merely a bubble in time, a stop gap until lips and whispers find their rightful place again. He fists his hands against her hip and that's when Annie relishes a selfish, satisfied thought:

Jeff Winger doesn't have anything figured out.


	2. Take Me Away

**NOTES**: Yes, it is continuing! Spoilers for episode 4x02, one spoiler for 4x03.

* * *

_Previously, on **The Knots In Our Laces**: Britta and Troy do a lot more than hold hands; Jeff proposes a sexy two-person costume for Halloween; Abed pretends to be as sad as everyone else about the ice cream thing; the Dean cracks Jeff's new email password; Shirley invents a row of specialty sandwiches; Annie starts to doubt a career in Health Administration; and Pierce enrolls in a puppetry class._

* * *

**.**

**Take Me Away**

**.**

"I know that I want you," whispers Jeff into the shell of her ear.

He kisses her temple, her cheek, her mouth again. While it's a methodical, deliberate seduction of his lips on hers, Jeff's hands are anything but modest.

One palm cups her breast, rubbing his thumb over the spot where her nipple hides beneath fabric. His other hand glides warm fingers across the small of her back, manipulating their way beneath her shirt. "I want my career again, and I want my friends, and I want to touch you whenever the mood strikes me. I want to dip insi—"

_I GOT A POCKET, GOT A POCKET FULL OF SUNSHINE!_

_I GOT A LOVE AND I KNOW THAT IT'S ALL MINE, OH!_

"AUGH! Be quiet!"

Annie Edison rolls over and fumbles for her alarm clock, jabbing at buttons until Natasha Bedingfield becomes a Spanish sports cast, then evaporates entirely. She jerks up in bed, and pushes her hair out of her face.

It's 7:03 A.M. For a moment Annie sits in the well of silence, staring down at her open hands.

"Morning, you up?"

Startled, Annie freezes, and her fingers clench into tiny fists. Then she exhales when she remembers it's just Britta, waiting by the window. Obediently, she rises to begin the morning charade. Pulling the glass wide enough for her friend to crawl through, Annie tries not to obsess on possibility that she spoke in her sleep while Britta was within hearing distance. Luckily, the other woman is easily distracted in the mornings.

"I'm never watching _Inception_ again. Last night was three times too many." Annie says this as if it were a normal flow of conversation, not a declaration flung out to fend for itself. She follows it up with a proffered curling iron.

Britta doesn't seem to notice, too busy tugging on her pants when she replies, "Sheesh, tell me about it. That man's going to need so much therapy because of them. Hey, you going to the party tonight?"

* * *

Fifteen hours and a Scooby Doo adventure later, the boxer is riding home with his ex-ring girl. As the car rolls to a stop in front of Jeff's building, he gives a halfhearted quirk of his mouth. "So," he asks, "Is it _home again, home again_, or are you still planning to check out Vicky's dry ice routine?"

Annie's smile starts small, but it gets bigger and bigger until it breaks across her face like a wave. "I know everyone else is calling it quits, but I love Halloween and I'm not ready to quit just yet. It's still early, plenty of mysteries to solve!"

His chuckle is a uncontrollable reaction to her enthusiasm, and Jeff lets himself enjoy it. Better to savor every moment here than worry about the phone number in his pocket or the silent apartment upstairs. "You know that the scary girl is the killer, right? Naomi Watts discovers the ghost story."

"Well," drawls Annie, tapping her fingers lightly on the steering wheel, "Maybe she just needs a second chance."

"Yeah," Jeff agrees. He pulls his phone out, examines the black surface without turning it on. Then he pushes open the passenger side, and says, "I hope you have fun at the party, Annie. Watch out for Garret."

"Jeff," she calls, and he stops just before closing the car door. "Is everything okay?"

He runs his eyes over Annie, bad wig and ratty costume making a strange picture inside her junker vehicle, then tries for a convincing smirk. "I'm good."

* * *

Vicky's Halloween Smash Down 2012 might be the most amazing house party Annie's ever attended in her life. It's barely half past ten, and things are in full swing while the night is young. The interior of Vicky's family home is swathed in sheets of jungle green fabric and large, fake leaves. Brown paper vines twist around furniture, and someone has been handing out cheetah print t-shirts to anyone who forgot to bring a costume. All the food is green or yellow, and rubber jungle creatures have overtaken the decor. A snake wraps up the door of the refrigerator and several bright, poisonous frogs guard the main stair well. There's even a stuffed animal version of the Fruit Loops mascot mercilessly duct taped to a ceiling fan.

Music and chatter collide in the air just above her head, weighing down the party guests with a blanket of noise, broken in patches by light from strobes or multicolored lamps. Fog pools around Annie's feet, spilling from cauldrons in nearly every corner of the room. It provides the final touch of transformation, making the Halloween Smash Down not just an event, but an affair.

Most of the brightly bedecked people are Greendale Community College natives; Annie figures she knows about half of them and has the seen the rest around campus. It's fun to mingle alongside her peers without the overbearing expectations of her friends. As much as she dearly loves them (in fact, she's been thinking about dedicating one of her poetry class midterms to the group), Annie can feel those odd moments when they forget that she's grown and changed right alongside them. Maybe Jeff's jabs about her naivete have lost their sting these days, but it's still nice to get away.

Here people will hand her drinks, ask her to dance, or give her the rundown of math club gossip. Best of all, no one gives Annie a second glance if she makes a daring pun about the cream cheese sliders. For over two fascinating minutes now she's been watching as the Dean fans himself with dry ice fumes, when someone hugs her from behind.

"Pop pop!"

Annie laughs as she twists out of Magnitude's arms to find Neil, Vicky, and Quendra in tow.

"You made it!" says Neil. "I thought your group bailed on us."

"Just me tonight," Annie admits. "There was drama."

"Isn't there always?" says Vicky, but she smiles, and Annie knows she's not the only one floating on whimsy tonight.

Beside the other girl, Quendra practically bounces in her sexy princess costume. "Annie, hi! It's been so long! Do yoooooouuuuu maybe wanna play a drinking game?"

"Pop Pop Beer Shots takes a five brave souls," adds Magnitude. "And at least two smart people."

Annie can't stop the grin that takes over as she says, "Well then, I'm just the girl for the job."

"Yes!" Quendra squeals and tucks her arm through the crook in Annie's elbow. "We asked like six people until we saw you. The winner gets this _fabulous _Silver Sparkle Goddess belt! I'm just trying it on to keep it safe."

Before she can reply Annie is tugged toward the kitchen, the world reorients itself on a new axis, and there are only good things to come.

* * *

Across town, in a gray apartment complex with a red fence, tremors shiver through Jeff's fingers as he blurts out a recording for his father. "...So if you want to talk, you have my number."

Wincing at the pathetic whine in his voice, Jeff taps the blinking square on his android then drops it to the mattress like a searing piece of charcoal. This whole situation spells disaster, regardless of what Britta the Unlicensed thinks.

The hollow click and beep of the auto-tone voice mail reply was case in point. He's resented the man all his life, and by refusing to pick up the fucking call William Winger has ruined yet one more holiday for Jeff. Christmases: too many to count. Birthdays: too depressing not to count. Halloween: a new low and sinking fast.

"You know what? Hell with you."

Swallowing a mouth full of empty air, Jeff stands up and examines the spartan interior his bedroom. He throws on a pair of dark jeans and his basic black t-shirt from Hugo Boss, plucks his cell phone back from the folds of the bedspread, and heads for freedom.

* * *

The party is a sweltering den, full of chasing bodies and false smoke. There's green lights and yellow lights reflecting off a broken mirror ball that Jeff last saw in the Glee club's dressing room. He sails with head above the crowd and can't avoid how it reminds him of a vacation where he once imbibed and slept his way through several Australian night clubs.

Feeling the press of youth and the discomfort of being the only sober person in a crowd of drunks, Jeff is about to heel-turn on the spot when Annie bounces in front of him. Her wig has been replaced with a generic ponytail and a wide, silver belt glistens where it cinches together her sack of a dress. The new shimmery waistline, the sallow complexion left over from her _Ring_ persona, and the addition of scarlet lipstick have transformed her from murderous ghost child to some kind of goth vampire.

"Jeff!" she crows, and leans toward him on the balls of her feet. Annie looks like she belongs here, fresh and weird and buzzing happy.

"As charged. You look pretty—malnourished, but pretty."

Dropping her gaze, Annie touches the base of her pony tail and smiles. "The wig was too hot. I think I left it in Vicky's bathroom, and who knows if I'll ever get it back. Oh, guess what! I won this belt, a gently-used lipstick, and two free Caesar salads in a drinking game."

She laughs at her own claim, and adds, "It wasn't even that hard. Vicky and Neil were already drunk, and Magnitude was distracted trying to impress Quendra."

"You've done the Study Group proud," commends Jeff, and when she flips her hair and says, "It was for the team," they smile at the same time.

"What've had you had so far?" he asks, just to make conversation. When she looks at the wall and flushes beneath the creases of her white make up, it finally clicks for Jeff that she's not really smashed at all.

"Annie!" he says, somehow both scandalized and charmed.

"I wasn't cheating," she swears. "I drank everything they did! But I didn't have any alcohol until the game started and I'd eaten just half an hour before. It's not my fault they'd been partying for two hours straight."

Jeff raises his eyebrows and she adds, "Besides, they were only beer shots. Troy would have never fallen so easily."

"No argument there," he replies, and together they walk toward the kitchen. The general din is less inside, and the space is well-lit with plenty of counter top. Most of the work space is already taken up, but Jeff grabs a glass from from the dish rack and sets it before them. "So, Your Sneakiness, what will it be?"

"Hmmm...Appletini?"

When he pulls out his phone and she asks what he's doing, Jeff says, "I'm looking up how to make one."

Annie's hand folds over the top of his tapping fingers, stopping him. "Don't worry about it."

Jeff waits, gaze torn between Annie and the device. Her voice is warm, just like her skin, when she says, "Really, Jeff. I only want a ginger ale."

"Done," replies Jeff after another pause. Then he gallantly presents two soda cans from Vicky's fridge. Annie giggles, and they lean against the counter side by side to watch the party happen around them.

"Isn't this great?" she muses. "Everyone is having fun and it's not even a school dance."

Jeff clears his throat, looking at his ginger ale instead of Annie. "To be honest, I think my life is going to be a little boring after I graduate from that place."

Annie scoffs. "What, you? You'll have an entourage anywhere you go, ready to compliment your hair and abs. Besides," she winks, and nudges him in the ribs, "There's always us. We'll still drag you to the fun places."

"Like that convention Abed's been angling for? I told you, I'm not going anywhere near it."

"Aww, come on. At least come up to see the snow!"

"Why? Do you wanna go—"

The words are barely halfway out when her face illuminates and Annie clutches his arm and half shrieks, "Let's go skiing!"

"**—**skiing?"

"We should go, it'll be fun! I've never been but I have two books on theory at home."

Sometimes Annie's commitment to life preparation takes Jeff aback. If this woman wanted to run for office, she'd make the Palins look dull as cement. He downs a gulp of his soda and has to clarify, "You have two books on how do to a sport you've never tried?"

"One's more of a biography, but..."

"Okay." He sets his half-empty can on the counter, and then pats her upper arm in that gesture of universal friend connection. Jeff's hand almost stays there of its own accord, wanting to slide toward the place where Annie's bare neck swoops into her collarbone, but he pulls back and says, "Yeah, we'll go skiing. Drive up then ditch the convention altogether."

Annie grabs the same hand and squeezes it between her own pair. Jeff can feel where her two thumbs are pressing into the lifeline of his palm and memorizes the shape her fingers make around his.

"Thank you, I'm so excited!" she says, then lets go and picks back up her drink. After a moment of contemplation, Annie pours it in the clean glass still alone on the counter, and adds a slosh of gin. Raising the new concoction to her lips, she gives Jeff a sidelong glance, all _Breakfast at Tiffany_'s for a moment, and asks out of the blue:

"Do you know anything about secret societies?"


	3. Here Comes The First Day

**Special thanks **to **woobloo** for being a last-minute salvation beta, last chapter and this one!

**NOTES**: And now we've come around to episode 4x03. Or not? 'TIS A MYSTERY. Title from "In Our Bedroom After the War" by Stars.

* * *

_Previously, on **The Knots In Our Laces**: Annie imagines a version of Jeff who's straightforward and confident; Troy avoids the Air Conditioning Repair Annex; Shirley agrees under duress to host Thanksgiving for her in-laws; Pierce's brother Gilbert starts buying eco-friendly products for the mansion; Britta buys donuts for Abed; Jeff decides to call his dad again tomorrow, or possibly next Wednesday; and Annie Kim drops out of History of Ice Cream for medical reasons._

* * *

**.**

**Here Comes the First Day**

**.**

"Jeff!" she screams, soaring past him like a bird on wing. "I don't know how to stop!"

"Put your feet in a pizza shape!" But it's too late, Annie is gone to snow. She swerves down the hillside, a marble in the mountain's toy landscape, until halfway down the purple marble bounces, pivots, and tumbles into the shape of a body again.

Jeff finds her sitting on her backside, feet in front of her with skis and ankles intact. Her face is pink below her sunglasses and beanie. "Hey there, snow bunny," he quips, managing a stop that won't win any awards, but does keep his ass dry.

"Now is not the time to be cute," says Annie. "Now is the time when I when I recall my training, inhabit the character, and defeat the mountain!"

There follows a pause as they both wait for her to get up. When the pause lingers for another whole minute, Jeff says, "So your character defeats the mountain by laying on it? What will your best-ies say when they learn the truth at show-and-tell night?"

Annie gawks at him, and sputters, "I don't boast about all my fun stuff to Troy and Abed! Friendship isn't a competition."

Jeff snorts, sticking his two poles into the snow and crossing his arms. "Of course it's not, and that's not why you talked about how amazing the powder would be every time they mentioned the getting the guest Inspector's signature."

"It was a long drive," she defends, but sighs and stretches her gloved fingers out. "Help me up, Inscrutable Snowman."

One good haul and she's standing beside him, their feet separated by the necessity of skis, and Annie nods at Jeff with an mischievous smile. "You know, they call you Thoraxis when you pretend to be too cool for group stuff."

"Who's Thoraxis?"

Instead of an answer, she gives him a view of her backside as she sails down the mountain with victory in sight.

* * *

It's after seven when they stumble into the hotel lobby, dragging winter jackets and the pride of amateurs who fancy themselves medalists. Every step is a blow against exhaustion as Jeff follows Annie across the lobby. After hours of neglect, both their phones are jammed with tweets and photos of the convention. Together they snicker over Troy's epic battle with Toby, and and applaud the bravery of Britta befriending the only Minerva fangirl in the state.

When they get tired of Inspecticon updates, they speculate on the idea of Abed moving to England, then discount it before the elevator ride is done. Jeff pads his pockets for the room key when they reach the door to their suite. His fingers just close around the plastic card when an impatient Annie pulls Jeff's head down for a kiss. It's short, splendid, and banishes his weariness like wind over the snow banks.

Inside, Annie sets her bag on the floor, runs a hand through snow-dampened hair, and flops back on the large mattress. Jeff grabs a hanger for his coat and starts peeling off his layers while dialing the bedside phone.

"Hi, room 403. I want to place an order for two turkey burgers, one on whole wheat and one with a lettuce wrap. I'd also like a scotch...Kilchoman single malt if you have it. And a hot rum cider for my wife. "

Annie sits upright, and aims assessing stare in Jeff's direction. She purses her lips and admits, "I've never had rum cider. It sounds...pirate-ish."

"You'll love it," he says, setting the receiver down. Making his way to the foot of the bed, Jeff takes her hand and tugs until Annie stands in front of him, and they sway for a moment while he drops small kisses on her neck.

Annie runs her hands over his chest, then pulls back with a half-regretful declaration: "No way, Michael Bay. I need a shower first. I think there's snow in my bra."

"There could be other things in your bra," offers Jeff as she twists out of his arms and treads a path to the bathroom. She twists her hair into a pony tail that swishes as she disappears around the door.

"Just say the word and I'll check for you!"

Annie's laughter carries past the sound of running water to float around him. Jeff waits a moment, then dials room service again. "Yeah, I'd like to add a half dozen roses to my previous order. ...Yellow. Thank you."

* * *

A few minutes later, the whoosh of water stops, and he taps the door open. An impossible wave of steam assaults his senses, clinging to his bare torso and making his jeans stiffen around his waist. Jeff blinks and sees Annie, towel tied below her arms, drawing an elaborate pattern into the fog.

"Are you doing homework?" he asks, eyebrows climbing. She shrugs, brazenly meeting his gaze through the clouded mirror.

"Other Annie snagged a late enrollment in my Physics class, Jeff. She already tried to steal my seat twice! I must remain vigilant and prepared."

"Well, I'm going to mess it up," he warns, then steps behind her. His wide shoulders frame her own, and Jeff swipes her calculations off the mirror. When she makes a pout he spins her, picks her up by the waist, and sets her on the bathroom counter. Annie curls her legs around his waist, tugging his belt loop to bring his exceptional torso flush against her center.

"You ruined my work," she scolds, legs tightening. "That's so _Thoraxis_."

"Okay," mutters Jeff as he runs one finger along the top edge of her towel, teasing that he might pull it down at any moment. "Seriously, who is guy, and how are you naked in a hotel room yet thinking about him and not me?"

Annie snickers and wraps her arms around his neck, her damp fingers making clumps of Jeff's hair. "Don't be jealous. I promise, you're much better looking than my other husband."

"You'll regret that," he declares, and flicks apart the knot of Annie's towel. "When I'm done here, you're going to be cursing my name all over this convention."

"Thoraxis said the same thing in episo—"

Giggles interrupt her sentence as he attacks her ribs with long, merciless fingers. "Never surrender!" she chokes out between bubbly guffaws. Annie tries to tickle him in return, but Jeff is freakishly impervious. "Never hesitate!"

"As you wish," he replies, then drops his campaign in favor of capturing her lips. Their tongues meet, trading taste for taste, and when he presses her into the narrow counter top Annie arches her spine to bring herself closer. The heat and mist of the shower lets their skin slide deliciously together, and it's not long before Annie shoves his jeans down over his hips even faster than he could've done.

When they meet it's hot and familiar. The exquisite texture of Annie's depth steals the air from his lungs, leaving Jeff light-headed in the foggy bathroom. She writhes beneath him, desperate to meet the pressure of his thrusts and brace against the mirror at the same time. But Annie's hands keep slipping, and she leaves long streaks to mark the glass every time they come together.

"Yes," she whispers into his ear, exhale heady with lust and humidity. "Just like this."

"I love you," Jeff promises against the soft hollow of her neck. They push together: frantic, wet and inelegant in a hotel bathroom. Strands of Annie's hair stick to her neck and whisp in his face when he tells her, "I want you all the time. Every time."

"You have me," answers Annie, her voice rising to a keen. He can feel her reaching every part of him, and every part she touches is on fire. Her body clenches around him, then she digs her fingernails into his back, and vows, "You have me forever."

Bright light cleaves his vision and splits his world apart, until Jeff is sitting up in his own bed, breathing like a locomotive. A wave of something—_oh my god not yet not this—_rises up in his throat.

Jeff scrambles out of his blankets and just makes it to the bathroom in time to vomit.


	4. Tongue Tied

**NOTES: **Chapter 4, which I definite wrote before watching this week's episode. Because I am DEDICATED to my schedule, you guys. It's all for you! Well, also for me. Actually, it's mostly for me. But you're my motivators! =) I hope you enjoy this one. Feedback is always welcome, and thanks for reading.

* * *

_Previously, on **The Knots In Our Laces**: The Dean buys a new stapler and glues it to his desk; __Shirley gets into a pricing dispute with Pierce; _Abed de-friends Toby on the DARSIT Forever Forum; Jeff has a minor panic attack and starts avoiding Annie; Ian Duncan checks into rehab; and Britta stubs her toe on the balcony and has to get four stitches. 

* * *

**.**

**Tongue Tied**

**.**

As she tugs the metal gate to the new study room open, Annie pauses to absorb the picture before her: bright walls, a polished desk, and chairs that will stay nailed together for at least another six months. The space is cramped, but it holds new temptation and even a smidgen of mystery in its breadth. Some day a group of strangers may stumble down to lowest basement of Greendale, duck past old lockers and used lawn equipment, and find in this room their new family.

"We made this," she says to the waiting study room. Then she smiles, and picks up the sign-in sheet. Annie Edison: two hours, twice a week. She fills in the next three weeks, till the end of this month's list, and is pleased to see a smattering of other student names on the calendar. Maybe they haven't been completely forgiven by their classmates, but the reparations have been accepted and healing can begin. A tiny frown twitches at the corner of Annie's mouth when she sees Todd's name, but she swallows the irritation and chooses to smile instead.

Satisfied the room is hers for the near future (if Todd really wants to come to Greendale on Saturdays, that's on him), Annie settles her purse and backpack into a pile to her left and pulls out two notebooks. After that come her text books; her three best pens in purple, black, and red; her portable audio recorder; and lastly, her cell phone. Pursing her lips, she sets the timer on her phone and then flips her notebook open to a fresh page.

Blue lines float over white paper, and Annie begins her new routine.

This new study room, she decides later, is her favorite secret since the time she pranked Troy's ice cream without him noticing. Of course, it's not a _secret_ secret, not when it was a gift from the study group to the protesters, but the whole point was for everyone else to use it so the Greendale Seven could have their beloved room back. Annie can make any number of rationalizations, but in her heart she knows that even signing the clipboard is tantamount to an affair. It gives her a tiny thrill when she runs her fingers over a strange table and scoots forward on an unfamiliar chair.

Here, no one will remind her that she's spent her last three years majoring health administration when she could have taken forensics. If she puts her head in her arms to take a nap, a roommate won't poke her awake to ask for a mathematical justification of the DARSIT probability drive. None of her friends will say—

"Leave one of your pens down here?"

Annie starts at the sound of his voice, which makes her elbow slip and her wrist slam painfully on the table surface. She twists to see Jeff step past the metal gate, slide behind her chair, and make his way to what would traditionally be her side of the table. Since Annie's sitting at the head, in Jeff's typical seat, she assumes this is his attempt to be cute. Slinging his book bag off his shoulder, Jeff winks. He starts to rock back on the feet of the chair, then thinks better of it and settles, tossing her a smile. "So here sits Miss Edison, studying without us. What will your friends say? Oh, the scandal."

"Jeff..." She wants the tone to be a warning, but it comes out a squeak. He's wearing his red and blue plaid shirt, the same one that sent Dean Pelton into a fit on the floor. No sunglasses, but Annie wouldn't be surprised if he's got them stashed nearby. Jeff had been wearing green in their morning history class, so obviously the habit of a midday wardrobe change is back with a vengeance. He tilts his head at the sound of his name, almost daring.

Annie turns to glance down the hall where he'd appeared, then back at the table's surface. From the corner of her eye, she can see a frown swim across Jeff's face only to sink into charm almost as quick. She says, "I've been coming here for a while, okay? It's nicer now. Kind of like having my own space."

"We have the study room, and on paper this time." His eyebrows go up halfway: a mix of classic Winger disbelief and normal Jeff curiosity. "You don't have to hide down here."

Annie plucks the cap from the bottom of her black pen and closes it over the tip. Surreptitiously, like it's any old Don't-Look-At-Me-I'm-Just-Shuffling, she gathers her homework. "That's for the group, and besides, there's too much history there. Sometimes I can't think when I'm alone. This is my compromise: I keep the study room for friend business, and do the rest of my homework here. Or, you know, The Java Cup."

Rather than clarifying her perspective to Jeff, her explanation sets off something in him. He slouches deeper and crosses his arms until he looks like a massive human origami on the brink of unfolding. He cracks, "Too much history, huh?"

That's when a wave of self-reflection hits Annie Edison, college senior: she really cannot deal with one minute more of Jeff's moodiness and insecurity. For the last month he's been a veritable ping pong: one day he's buying her an appletini and joking about chocolate cake guilt, the next day he acts as if she's contracted something virulent and maneuvers every interaction so that he doesn't stand within three feet of her. He is so subtle that Annie might not even have noticed except that standing together was their _thing_, and it strikes her like a blow to the shins when she looks around the lunch line and he's all the way over next to Troy, with Shirley and Britta as his oblivious guard dogs.

That was last Thursday, and he hasn't walked down the hall beside her since. They chat and laugh in group the same as always—sometimes she forgets precisely how smooth Jeff can be at maneuvering, because she never knew him in the life where slithering-out of stuff was how he made a paycheck—but it's all public, and it's all distant. He hasn't even texted her in five days, except once to ask if she was awake and would she bring her notes to group tomorrow. When she'd confirmed she would, and asked if he wanted to meet ten minutes early to discuss them, Jeff texted back with 'ok' and two pumpkins, then never followed up. Annie knows too that shortly after Pierce's adventure in the safe room (and her slightly drunken party conversation) Abed tried unsuccessfully to corner Britta for a complete interrogation on their leader's state of mind. Jeff goes up, Jeff goes down, and the group has been waiting for the bomb to drop.

In the space of a few nanoseconds after Jeff asks her about their history, it crosses her mind that maybe this is an excuse, and he's finally ready to talk about whats been bothering him since Halloween. Then he opens his mouth again, and Annie's sympathy dries up faster than bubblegum on blacktop.

"Is this a subtle jab about me ditching you at the convention? Or the fact that I hung out with Britta in Pierce's haunted glamour mansion? Because that time, you walked out on me."

For a moment Annie can only stare, her mouth fallen open. Realizing she's done an impression of a fish for nearly four seconds, Annie gathers her brain back together and says, "No, it's not about you abandoning me at the Inspecticon. You already bought me a drink to make up for that, remember? And you can confide in Britta without me getting upset, _Jeff._ The reason I'm using this spot has nothing to do with you."

Unsatisfied, Jeff swings his arms open, a showman on the stage. "Alright then Minerva, why don't you share with the class?" he demands, and Annie can't understand why he's come all the way down here just to be a jerk. Abruptly, her chair feels too small and too low under his gaze. So she stands, shoves her things roughly into her backpack, and yanks the large zipper so hard it jams.

"It's all the drama we carry around, okay?" She pulls on the cheaply manufactured plastic until it closes up with a ripping noise. Tugging on her backpack and avoiding eye contact, Annie continues.

"I love our room, you know I'd get up insanely early to fight for it! But sometimes it's all a bit much, and I need time alone. Between our apparently villainous escapades whenever I come to school and Abed versus Troy-and-Britta whenever I go home, it's a parade of noise that never stops. Then add in you and all your weirdness this week..."

Her eyes jump up from the table in time to see Jeff flinch as if she'd physically attacked him. "I'm _not_ being weird," he snaps. "You're the one afraid to hang out in the study room."

Rolling her eyes, Annie says, "Yes, Jeff, you're right. As usual. Maybe I don't think our space is conducive to intense, focused education. So I come down here." She points at the hanging clip-board on the rack. "Twice a week, like clockwork. I even sign in so they don't accuse me of being a Nazi again. A _Nazi_, Jeff! If I want to be on my own, where I won't get constantly interrupted, I don't see why you're acting all sensitive about it. It's just a study room!"

The moment bends and stretches, with Annie breathing a little too fast and her friend staring at her like she's been speaking in tongues. She licks her lips and musters herself for the imminent argument, until she notices the clock above Jeff's shoulder. She gasps, and practically _feels_ all her blood leave her extremities to rush inward to her chest. Then Jeff stands up as well, looming so high that he blocks the wall clock. His voice drops to a tone Annie almost never hears: low and concerned.

"What is it?"

Muttering under breath about the time, Annie digs into her bag, finds her cell phone, flips it on, and squeaks at the read-out.

"What's wrong?"

"It's the alarm widget," she moans. "It's always failing because my phone is a million years old, and now for today's special bonus I'm late for my quiz! I'm sorry, Jeff, I've got to go. Tell the group if you want, I don't care."

"Annie," he calls, but she's already out the gate, past the lockers, and on her way to class.

Over the the next forty-eight hours, the space between Annie and Jeff balloons into a mile wide trench, then without warning snaps back to normal again. The day after he picked a fight with her in the Greendale basement, Jeff stands even further away during group activities, and spends so much time texting over his phone that Annie begins to wonder if he has neck problems when he sleeps at night.

One day bleeds into another, however, and Jeff sits down beside her at lunch as if they're the best buddies since_ Troy & Abed In The Afternoon_. Annie's never felt like Jeff's -buddy- buddy before (he always has Shirley and Britta for that), and his wise-cracking geniality is a little bizarre after the antisocial statue of the prior day. But one thing is incredibly familiar and equally welcome: he's paying attention to her again. He starts texting her discreetly in their History class, and when they walk to the study room his shoulder brushes hers in a way Annie hadn't realized she was missing. It feels, she decides, like this is once more the Jeff Winger she knows and wants to be friends with. This is the Jeff who won six red balls from The Hunger Deans. When she watches him tuck his phone into his jean pocket with a smirk, what she really sees is the man who solved a yamicide with her and sang in the Glee Christmas against his better judgment.

"Later," he waves after the group disperses, and when Annie turns in the direction of the Greendale basement, Jeff lets her go without a blink of discontent. Exhaling, Annie makes a bee line down to the other study room. It's empty when she arrives, with the lights turned off to save on Greendale's electric bill, so at first she doesn't notice anything out of place. She settles her backpack on a chair, leans over to the wall, and flicks on the fluorescent overheads.

On the table, in the spot where a name tag at a wedding might sit, is a palm-sized white box tied with a yellow ribbon. Annie picks up the box, turns it over in her hands, then peels off the ribbon. It falls away easily, leaving tiny specks of gold glitter on her fingertips. Inside the box is a gift and a post-it note.

_SORRY_

—says the post-it, and follows the apology with a crude doodle of a snowman, a party balloon, and a woman's shoe.

Annie bites her bottom lip at the pastel square of paper, and carefully presses it to the inside of her History notebook. Then she takes up her new egg timer, twists the shiny knob until it stops at one hour, and settles down for a good lesson.


	5. A Good Refrain

**NOTES: **Takes place after 4x05. There's a reference to the poem "Nothing Gold Can Stay" which is excellent, btw. Song title comes from "On the Radio" by Regina Spektor, which I listened to for some of this chapter. Other music influences include the 2012 albums by Passion Pit and Of Monsters and Men. And just in case you think I choose title puns on a whim...

**REFRAIN-**  
Verb: To keep oneself from doing, feeling, or indulging in something  
Noun: A repeated line in a poem or song; a repeated utterance or idea

* * *

_Previously, on **The Knots In Our Laces**: Troy asks the Dean to hire a Professor of The Real World Studies; Annie joins a forensics class at the last minute; Todd tells everyone he's going to use the basement study room all day on Saturdays; Pierce polishes his hand-puppet routine; Jeff gets drunk and decides to stop avoiding Annie; Shirley almost dies for three minutes; and Black Michael Chiklis drops out of History of Ice Cream for medical reasons._

* * *

**.**

**A Good Refrain**

**.**

It may take months for the dust to settle and years for his heart to heal, but there's one unarguably positive thing to come out of meeting the delinquent William Winger. In the hustle of surprise siblings and shared last names, Jeff hasn't thought about Annie in almost a week.

Okay, he's thought about her, sure, a little. He'll watch her in the study group while he plays _Bubble Worlds_ on his phone, and he may have started mentally cataloging her sweater collection to pass the time between group fights and group hugs. But that's boring shit he used to do even before he—before the thing that changed. What this recent cavalcade really afforded him was a reprieve; after almost a month of wrestling with the revelation of one fucking dream that won't get out of his head, Jeff has something new to worry about. Something he can tie himself into knots over that has almost nothing whatsoever to do with sweat-streaks on a mirror or snowflakes in long, brown hair.

Taking a sip of wine from his glass, Jeff checks the last thought for the misdirect it is. Annie hasn't been his only concern for the last month, just a severely frustrating one, and one he is spitefully grateful to be relieved from. The situation most guaranteed to drive him mad started with his deadbeat old man and has hopefully ended with him. That's the give-and-take of things, knowing that the only way to stop thinking about one problem is to face another problem head on. Thankfully, Winger Senior turned out to be a situation Jeff was ready to deal with. He probably could've handled it better, but Britta was there to serve as distraction and to remind him that he will never again be alone at the hands of his father.

God, the man is such a shit. The fact that they got on so well at first is bona fide proof of it.

"Jeffrey, you should have some of this pie," urges Shirley with a smile that envelopes him like a blanket. "The bakery stepped it up a notch since I set them right about nutmeg last summer. As if anyone seriously believes paprika is a substitute, Lord have mercy."

Jeff concedes, promising himself that he'll work it off when he gets home. Or maybe, if he's being truly free tonight, he won't work it off. Maybe he'll let the gravy and the turkey and the yams and the fried green beans percolate through his system for a full sixteen hours. People with happy families let their walls down and enjoy Thanksgiving dinner, right? A good chunk of Jeff really wants to be that person tonight. He divides the pumpkin pastry with his fork and savors the impression it leaves on his tongue in the wake of the chardonnay. The balance of flavors is seductive, but the sugar shock that follows makes his stomach roil. Maybe he could take a jog in the morning, a short one... sixteen hours is an awfully long time to hold onto calories.

"Now that you've told off your dad, what's your next major character arc?" Abed is staring at him with uncompromising curiosity, while beside him Britta looks ready to pull his rib cage apart and feel around for her psych degree. The emanating waves of nearly visceral excitement are cute and unnerving at the same time.

"Yeah, Jeff," she joins in. Earlier she pulled her curls into a soft pony tail, and the finish is so elegant he wonders if Britta will ever realize how amazing she can be when the rebelliousness takes a backseat. Her eyes go gooey-soft as their gazes meet, but that doesn't stop her from egging him on. "What's next? Big brother fishing trips? Learning to play a stringed instrument?"

He looks from one face to the other, then down at his wine glass. Something dark flickers in its liquid reflection and Jeff's attention darts to Annie. She's embroiled in a conversation with Shirley, so he stares at the turkey, his wine again, and back to his friends. He checks that thought, too; these weird, wonderful people are more than friends. They're the family he's chosen.

"Graduation," Jeff says, and even if it's not a lie it feels like one. Britta grins, Abed nods, and Jeff doesn't look at Annie again for at least a conversation. When at last he does, it's to inter-cut with a joke about purses that makes both women laugh. Annie smiles at him as easily as air is to breathe; Jeff raises his glass in cheer.

* * *

Three days later, Jeff sets down his paper cup so he can have his hands free to emphasize his point. "They dropped the random player function, so it takes forever to earn a new song category. Have we learned nothing from the fall of Billiard Buddies? I'm calling it right now: Song Pop is already dead."

A chorus of rebukes rain over the table, and Jeff leans back in his cockiest slouch to take it all in. Shirley suggests he's bitter that she is unilaterally smashing him in the Brit Pop category, and Troy thinks that as the reigning group champion of Funk, 2000s Rock, _and_ Love Songs, he deserves more admiration than just spiteful Facebook updates from Pierce. As the debate rises in volume, Abed watches everyone, and Jeff watches Annie. She's been pulled into arguing with Britta, who keeps forcing them to guess the National Anthems playlist because bypassing the category is obviously racist.

As she talks, Annie's spine goes stiff and her gestures sharpen, until she's sitting ramrod straight with her chin forward and her pointer finger digging into the table where she's drawn an invisible diagram. When she began, her hair was pushed behind her shoulders, and as the feud continues the part tucked behind her ear gets closer and closer to slipping out of place. Across the table, Jeff waits for it to happen with an almost self-punishing excitement. Like so many times before, the subsequent urge to to reach out in the middle of the study group and tuck it back for her will be nearly compulsive. He can predict these impulses now, and idly measure them against his talent for plausible deniability. If he tucks her hair behind her ear before Annie has a chance to do it herself, will he be able to fake his way out of it? Can he convince the group to ignore it as merely one of his weird fixations on personal grooming? Or will they see the lie for what it is, and turn on him—a pack of vultures eager to pick apart his motivations like so much carrion?

Besides, that's only the generic concern about his friends, not the woman in question. There's no way he'll be able to get away with something so intimate without Annie seeing right through his palisade of bullshit and out the other side. She has too much already; Jeff is not ready to give her this. He blinks, looks away from Annie and Britta, and begins stacking waste items on his meal tray. Saying goodbye to everyone, Jeff leaves the lunch table to dump his garbage.

He's almost out the door when Annie skitters up to his side. "Jeff!"

"Annie," he says. "Still sneaking up on people for educational spot-checks, I see."

"That's not what I wanna talk about. I'm a senior now, with senioritis, remember? I can't be bothered with reminding slackers like yourself about the homework schedule."

"If I believed that, I would be so proud of you right now."

"Haha, Tim McGraw." Annie catches his arm, and adds, "Slow down, will you? I have something to get off my chest."

After an opening like that, it takes a far better man than Jeff Winger not to glance at her breasts. He brings his eyes up immediately, but it's not quite fast enough, judging by Annie's expression. She gives him a "Seriously?" face, then pushes on with her point.

"I owe you a thank-you. I love the timer, and it's been really helpful for me to have something physical, right there, to check my pace against." Annie smiles, and one would think Jeff had given her a vacation to the Alps instead of an eight dollar kitchen device. "And thanks for not telling everyone about me using the other study room. It means a lot to have my own space."

The right answer is slower in coming than it ought to be. The top of his mouth feels dry, and Jeff wonders if she can see through him even now. He almost offers to go find her a third study room if the basement isn't good enough, but regains control before the words fly out.

"I'm glad to hear it," he manages. "I didn't mean to make you feel like you'd somehow rejected us, I hope you get that. And I'm sorry for avoiding you. It wasn't anything you...it wasn't personal. It's been a crazy month for me."

"I know." Before Jeff can work up the nerve to ask for it, she moves to wrap her arms around him. Returning the embrace is an automatic reaction where Annie's concerned, and the certainty that follows is as intense as it is clear: this time, he got it right. He's given her the freedom and the space she asked for, and in return, she's willing to hug him in the middle of the quad without judgment or blame. He closes his eyes and focuses on the feel of her sweater under his hands and the momentary scent of her hair as she pulls away.

Taking her place beside him as they walk, Annie offers one more temptation. "You can drop by sometime. I know your history is already pretty good, but it helps to rehearse the dates with another person. I'm not saying every day," she adds, "Just when we have a big quiz or whatever. And try to come in the second hour. Oh, and check the sign-in sheet!"

"Anything else, Milady?"

She hems and haws, then says, "Nope, that's it."

"Then I shall give your proposal due consideration," Jeff promises with over-the-top formality. "See you in study group, Annie."

* * *

Jeff's pretty sure he read a poem in middle school about nothing gold lasting past spring, but it takes a full two decades for the meaning to crystallize. He's standing in the GCC Matriculation office, waiting to finalize his graduation requirements while there's still time in the semester to make changes, when Vicky taps him on the shoulder and says, "You need to stop staring at Annie."

"What are you talking about?"

Vicky frowns, and repeats, as if talking to a child, "I'm saying you _need_ to stop staring at Annie all the time. It's not fair to her."

A thousand safe and reasonable deflections flood his mind, but like any cornered shark Jeff's first instinct is the attack.

"Oh, are you Annie's friend now? I thought I noticed how close you two seemed the other day, when you humiliated her in front of her classmates and called her a Nazi. Ten points to Hufflepuff for such a stellar display of human decency and cultural awareness."

The young woman's mouth compresses to a line, and for a moment Jeff thinks she'll melt back into the office wallpaper. As it happens, though, Greendale has a toughening effect on all its students, and Vicky's never been the same since she stuck a pencil in Pierce's cheek. She pays no attention to his triple-jab and replies evenly, "I haven't liked your study group since you guys hijacked the student election and ruined Anthropology for the rest of us. Even if you helped my boyfriend once, I don't understand why Neil gives you so much latitude. But in all the politics, there's one person in your twisted little circle who's always been fair to me, and that's Annie."

As Vicky speaks, she rises to a tense, dramatic cadence that would make her a killing in voice over work. When she pulls a cheap ballpoint pen from her hair and points it toward his pecs, Jeff nearly steps backward. He disregards his first instinct and holds his ground, but that doesn't faze Vicky in her tirade. "Annie is a nice person, and she respects others. She is the only one of your group that showed up for my birthday party."

"I came to your party!" he protests. If anyone had asked this morning, Jeff would've sworn Vicky liked him. This was, apparently, a huge misapprehension on the scale of Kelly. Or is it Kim? Definitely Kelly. Either way, Vicky isn't nearly done with what she's come to say.

"Don't make excuses! Annie deserves a nice boyfriend, and we've all been hoping she's finally ready to let go of this stupid crush she's had on you since freshman year."

"Who's 'we'? And why is this conversation even happening?"

Vicky ignores him again, poking his chest with the pen until he feels the pressure of the tip under his shirt. A sliver of Jeff's consciousness laments that she's going to leave marks, but the dominant compartments of his brain are getting more incensed the longer she speaks. The idea that his intentions, or God forbid his actual feelings, are on display to others when he barely has a lid on them himself is frightening. The idea that someone he only knows in passing imagines they have a right to comment is _intolerable_—and how long is this woman going to stand here scolding him?

"You brushed aside her feelings for years, and just when Annie's ready to move on, you start yanking her around again. First flirting with her, then ignoring her, and now you're giving secret presents?" She leans in to hiss, "Annie is not your plaything, Jeff Winger."

"Enough, Vicky!" he snaps, and plucks the pen out of her sweaty palms. He tosses it on the nearest pamphlet table, and reminds himself how bad an idea it would be to start shoving girls, even if it's the most satisfying option. Instead, he summons his nastiest courtroom demeanor.

"I'm sure you're feeling proud of yourself right now. Sticking up for your Greendale sister, warning off the bad guy before he can do more harm. You're thinking, 'Jeff, he's such ass. He never knew a good thing when it was standing in front of him. He'll just break her heart again and again, until she stops believing in love. He'll take everything bright and sunny in Annie's soul and destroy it, because he's a user and a cynic who can't touch delicate things without breaking them.' Is that right, Vicky? Is that what I'm going to do to Annie? Is that what she told you?"

Vicky's frown deepens, and Jeff waits until she's about to reply, then cuts her off: "Ahh, but she didn't tell you that, did she Vicky? Because Annie isn't weak, and Annie isn't a gossip like the two of us. This is your personal intervention. I should just be telling you to mind your own fucking business, but I'm going to be forthright with you so there are _no_misunderstandings here."

Jeff waves his hand between them, and he doesn't notice that the whole office has hushed up to listen. "This is not about some girl you have to save from the school bully, this is my family you're talking about. Annie's a grown woman, and you should have more faith in her. If she and I stay friends, she'll be fine. If I flirt with her, she'll be fine. If I take her away and marry her tomorrow then divorce her next Thursday, _she will be fine_. Because Annie Edison is a fortress, and if you think I have the power to break her down, then you're a crap friend, and you don't know her at all."

Watching his opponent swallow air, her face gone pale, Jeff looms to his full height and says, "Now excuse me, I have an appointment with an education counselor in five minutes. Do us both a favor, and fuck off."

That done, Jeff turns his back on Vicky and looks at the Greendale employee behind the counter. The young man wordlessly offers him the check-in log, which Jeff grabs a bit rougher than necessary, signs, and returns. Then he walks to a waiting room chair, sits, and pulls out his phone.

"Vicious," says a nearby student with bushy red hair and a beard. "You just got Wingered."

"You shut up!" snaps Vicky as she retrieves her pen then marches out of the office. She pauses at the door to look back over her shoulder at Jeff. "JERK!


	6. Follow Through

**NOTES: **Takes place after 4x06. Title from the song by Gavin DeGraw.

* * *

_Previously, on **The Knots In Our Laces**: Troy tells Britta he's ready to get more adventurous in the bedroom; Shirley warns the Dean to ease off his stalking for a bit or she'll call the school board; Jeff manipulates everyone in an attempt to subvert Kevin's acceptance; Vicky tells Neil to stop inviting the Greendale Seven to their house parties; Annie uses her investigation into Sullivan's Trout Farm for an extra credit report worth 10% of her grade; the Trobedison Apartment has a Marvel Movies Marathon; and the red-bearded student drops out of History of Ice Cream for medical reasons._

* * *

**.**

**Follow Through**

**.**

"This is bogus," says Troy as he leans over Abed's shoulder to watch the credits scroll across the laptop version of Adobe Premiere Pro. "How did Jeff get to be Executive Producer?"

"He wrote the story," replies Abed, punching keyboard shortcuts as he fine-tunes the music bed. "It's a standard industry credit."

Annie peeks across Abed's other side, clicks her tongue, and says, "You mistyped 'cinematography' in the third line." As the film student gives her a thumbs-up and selects the appropriate layer, Troy catches her eye.

He gestures to the door, and Annie looks from Troy's eagerness to Abed's head, then to Troy again, raising her eyebrows in exaggerated effect. Troy's face puckers, and he gestures with his chin, bending his neck way to one side and crossing his eyes. He starts jerking urgently with a pointed finger. Annie rolls her eyes and sighs, which prompts Abed to say from below them, "Annie, please don't torture Troy. We have a bit later and I require his unfiltered whimsy."

Troy's expression drops to a pout, which makes Annie smile. Snagging his arm, they leave Abed to his work. In the hall outside the study room, they hunch together against the glass and Troy pulls out his phone. "Jeff hasn't responded to my texts. If he doesn't come soon, he's going to miss the movie. I bought kettle corn in little baggies and everything."

Gnawing her lower lip, Annie points out that it's probably going to be embarrassing. "You know how strongly I believe in group stuff, but...honestly, I wouldn't want to watch it either, if I were him."

"We need to get him here," insists Troy. "I've been listening to Britta read her psychology flashcards aloud, and I'm telling you as the boyfriend of an unlicensed professional brain-fixer, Jeff needs to confront his music and face the demons. I especially think he'll like the music, seeing as _I_ picked out his theme song."

This pulls a another smile from Annie. Her roommate puts his heart into everything, even fixing their other friend's emotional problems. "I think you're right." She promises, "I'll go find him and drag him to the study room if I have to."

Eyes alight, Troy spins her around by the shoulders and enthusiastically propels her toward the exit. "Threaten to steal his midday back-up shirt if he gives you any trouble, Houlighan!"

Waving as she leaves, Annie calls back, "Will do, partner!"

* * *

When Annie spots his feet hanging beyond the edge of the sofa in the Greendale Student Center, she cuts across the space and stops in front of Jeff. Looming over the pillow that covers his face, she says, "Jeff, you're at risk of abusing the Crazy Couch. After Shirley's incident with the nail gun we all agreed that it's only for special occasions."

His reply is muffled through the pillow, faintly audible midst the hum of students and the trill of the dean's voice announcing lunch activities for the week. "Go away Annie."

She tsk-tsks. "So you can lie here like a useless blob? Abed's going to show us the movie in an hour. You should be there." Swallowing her reticence, Annie reaches out and pokes him in the upper arm. Her fingers stay, until it's not so much a pressure as a caress. When he folds the pillow down, she snatches her hand away.

Jeff looks up bleary-eyed and with his hair a complete mess. He sighs, one great long breath that is, in Annie's opinion, a tad melodramatic. He tells her, "I thought I would be better now."

"Better how?" _More empathetic?_ she wants to ask. Less of a manipulative ass?

Rising to a sitting position with the pillow in his lap, Jeff waves at her to join him on the Crazy Couch. "Just _better_. I thought that if I met my dad and said everything I wanted to say, finally this ball of, I dunno, _rage_ in my lungs would disappear. Instead it just gets sublimated into everything else."

She watches as Jeff puts one hand to his brow, scrubbing his forehead as if he could wipe darker thoughts out through application of will. Annie feels that urge to give him the words he expects—that easy forgiveness from the doe-eyed girl—but it's all still a bit raw. His manipulation of the study group hurt, and she's not sure forgiveness is what Jeff needs anyway. He needs _something_, that much is obvious, but it's nothing they can fix if he's unwilling to fix it himself first.

"I even blew up at Vicky the other day," he continues, sending her a sheepish glance. "She was trying to protect a friend, and I ripped her to pieces because she dared to interfere with something I wanted."

Unimpressed, Annie crosses her arms. "Yes, we all know how talented you are." In hunting down Jeff she'd expected, even wanted, for him to show some regret; Annie is a huge believer in the power of shame as a deterrent. Yet faced with a morose and unhappy Jeff, it's not a satisfying picture.

If he keeps feeling sorry for himself, he'll never get to see Abed's movie, much less face his Troy-approved music or confront his demons. It'd be a shame for someone as vain as Jeff to miss the premier screening of an entire film dedicated to himself. Scooting a bit closer on the couch, Annie elbows him in the side, and says, "As for forgiveness...um, fake it till you make it?"

He meets her optimistic expression with disbelief. "Annie, that guiding life principle landed me at Greendale in the first place."

"Well, it's not _my _policy," she admits. "Maybe sports? Angry guys are into boxing, right? I lost a bet to Abed about how many punching bags Captain America ruins. Apparently I'm 'a disgracefully poor judge of the depths of superhero angst,' but it seemed to me he got plenty of satisfaction from hitting things."

"No boxing." Shaking his head, Jeff points to his money-maker. "You wouldn't like me half as much with my cheek broken, trust me."

"Whatever you decide, no more using the rest of us to achieve your Machiavellian goals." Her eyes momentarily drop to his mouth as she frowns. "You know besides being rude, your little scene was pretty offensive. You can't _throw yourself_ on someone's lips to prove a point."

One can almost see the moment when things set him off these days; his brain jumps gears and the mood change, so invisible to Annie in the years past when she was blinded by her crush on him, ripples across his body language. Jeff turns his whole frame toward her, and his voice deepens as he challenges, "Why not? You did it."

Because she knows her friend well, Annie's prepared for some sort of comeback, but this strike is low. The sound of every person in the Student Center evaporates when his volley hits, as if outside noise can be eclipsed by the implosion of three dangerous little words.

She remembers precisely what kiss Jeff is referring to; it's the kiss they never really talked about except one time, under duress from their friends. The kiss which may have been strategic but was anything, _everything _but joyless.

"That was a debate against City College!" Annie blurts. That was _me_, she almost adds. "Even if my methods were sexist, they were contextually justified. I was trying to prove the inherent evil of humanity."

"So was I. Remember when 'Kevin' tried to kill us?"

Once more on the firm ground of indignation, Annie rebounds seamlessly. "You and I were friends with a common goal. It's completely different from what you did to embarrass that poor woman."

Under the withering effect of her condemnation, Jeff drops the suave act. "I get it," he sighs, leaning back again to the couch and hugging the small pillow to his chest. "And if I didn't, Britta's told me half a dozen times since the other day. The dean even gave me a pamphlet on harassment. The _dean_."

Annie huffs, not sure if it's worth it to argue about hypocrisy with the reigning king of inconsideration. Opting for a different tack, she purses her lips and asks a question that's been kicking around in her brain since the fiasco began: "Did you do that because you're... lonely?"

Jeff, who had been staring at the ceiling, jerks his head down at her question. "What?"

"When you lured Chang's wife to Greendale and kissed her," Annie clarifies. "Maybe you went about it the wrong way, but... is that what you want?"

"What?" Jeff's voice climbs a half-step higher, and he stares as if she's grown a second head. Okay, so maybe he doesn't want Alessandra Chang; the woman did marry a psychopath. But even Jeff doesn't normally go around accosting innocents for the hell of it. At least not since their first year when the rest of the study group called him Don Juan Bacteria behind his back.

Clearing her throat, Annie tries to elaborate, but her voice betrays her and she half retreats from her sentences while she's in the middle of saying them. "The group is asking—"

"The _group_ is asking?"

"—because you haven't dated anyone in a while. And maybe she's not blond, but she's very pretty..."

Jeff throws his hands out, cutting her off. "No! No, stop, please," he says. "Just...stop talking."

Rebuffed, Annie clenches her jaw and glares. "It's a reasonable question!"

"It's really not," he counters, "But it's nice that _the group_ is thinking of me. You can tell the group that I'm not so lonely I'd create elaborate plots to make out with strangers. I'm fine. If I wanted to date, I'd be dating. Nothing is stopping me."

Annie eyeballs him skeptically. "Nothing?"

"I've got a lot on my plate with the deadbeat dad -slash- secret sibling soap opera, so I've been busy. And that's all _the group_ needs to know."

"Well good," says Annie, standing. Putting her hands on her hips, she adds, "You can tell everyone that you're fine when you come to the screening."

"I already told the super twins that I'm not going to watch a movie that chronicles my deepest humiliations."

A deviousness bubbles inside Annie from the vestiges of her irritation over the Kevin thing. Before thinking it through, she mutters, "I highly doubt this was your _deepest _humiliation."

In less than a blink Jeff's on his feet as well, face to face with her. "To which humiliation are you referring?" His voice is partly snide and partly sly as he leans into Annie's space. "There've been so many at Greendale, I've lost count."

"Sounds like a personal problem," she retorts, and über-casually flicks her hair to one side. Satisfied at having gotten him off the Crazy Couch, and sensing an opportunity for the type of dramatic exit she rarely gets with Jeff, Annie pivots toward the main doors. Over her shoulder she reminds him, "The screening's at four-thirty, don't be late!"

* * *

The private viewing of Abed's first socially significant documentary (as a senior now, he explains to Annie, considerations must be given to an ethical artistic development) has a cathartic effect on the denizens of Study Room F. Jeff shows up, and Kevin makes an appearance. There's a sweet, familiar respite as everything falls into place once more. The great thing about Annie's friends is that in the event that one of their number goes insane, the rest of the Greendale Seven will flock around them, eager to forgive. It's not until several hours later, in the comfort of the trio's apartment, that she realizes Abed still has more to say.

"I've been thinking about Jeff," he announces, and Annie actually pauses to make sure that Troy's still in the bath, and not standing half-naked behind her. Instances of Abed freely sharing his creative process with her range somewhere between never and maybe-that-one-time.

"What about him?" asks Annie, swiping a carrot through the hummus dip on their coffee table. Having finished all the Marvel films of the last decade, the television has been regulated to strictly _Superman_ media for the next seventy-two hours. On the screen right now the second season of _Lois & Clark_ is moving briskly through its third episode, subtitles on.

Abed steeples his fingers in the manner of Lex Luthor as he says, "I predicted that meeting his father would bring about emotional turmoil, but I assumed it would be the dark before the dawn. He met his father, he began a relationship with his long-lost brother, and he brought us together for Thanksgiving dinner. Yet he doesn't appear to be happy as a result."

Given that her fingers aren't long or elegant enough to steeple properly, Annie picks up another carrot stick and taps it on her front teeth while she considers Abed's theory. It's always easier to think of these conversations as scientific hypotheticals. She can give Abed a juicy disclosure, like her conversation with Jeff earlier, but doing so would break Jeff's confidence, even if she's pretty sure Jeff tells Abed private stuff all the time. There's also the fact that nine times out of ten, Abed refuses believe her input is unbiased.

Deciding it's safer to stick with devil's advocate tonight, Annie replies, "Well, one evening can't magically repair decades of anger, but let's say it does help. If Jeff is supposed to be happier, why did he throw a fit over Kevin?"

"That's what I'm trying to decide." Abed pauses the show and gives her his complete focus. "I think there's something else going on."

Snorting, she bites into her baby carrot. "A hidden agenda? From Jeff? That's crazy talk."

"I see your sarcasm," he hands her a potato chip, which she accepts, "And I raise you secret." He hands her another chip. "A trigger event of some kind occurred between the Inspecticon and Thanksgiving. I haven't figured out what, but I've broken down the social timeline and that's where his recent deviations began."

Annie puts the lid on the hummus container and relaxes in her sofa-chair, feeling suddenly full to the point of queasiness. "That's around when he started communicating with his father. It's probably that."

Shaking his head definitively, Abed rejects this. "He discovered something, or did something. Something beyond his family connections. And lately it's combined with his long-suppressed anger over his abandonment to create the horrific display of human awkwardness I captured in my documentary."

"Alright, I don't think I'm comfortable with this conversation," says Annie.

He zeroes in on her, his attention like a bird of prey. "Do you know what Jeff's hiding?"

"No," she denies honestly. "I've no idea if Jeff is hiding anything, or what it might be. But _if _he is, maybe you should leave him alone? He apologized to Kevin and the school, so it's over. Trust my emotional intuition on this one, Abed. You just finished laying his soul bare on film, which means for the next few weeks Jeff's psyche is off-limits to tinkering."

Abed makes a disagreeing noise, but at Annie's firm look he backs off. They finish out two episodes of the 1990's dramedy about Superman, Troy joining in for the second. He elects to sit side-by-side with Abed, letting Annie have a full chair to herself. Together, they make fun of John Shear's acting and debate Dean Cain's handsomeness against other leads of the franchise. It's fun, and when she turns in for the night a smile has latched onto her face that won't go away.

* * *

Curling herself under her blankets, Annie rethinks her conversation in the Student Center, and flicks on her phone's messenger app. She composes a note, and sends it before the impulse leaves her.

**/ Why don't you come study with me tomorrow? If you're not too busy hanging out with Kevin ;) /**

A bit of light teasing never hurts with Jeff, and soon her phone chimes in response. Grinning at the indicator, Annie tries not to think about Abed's theory. Wanting to spend time with him is not an excuse to pry, not when it's Jeff. Hanging out is what they _do _at Greendale. This will be more of the same, she's sure of it.

**/ sure you want to be seen with me? i'm fairly unpopular in certain parts of this school /**

Out of habit, she quick-types her reply: ** / It's in a basement, we aren't going to be seen. /**

When Annie hits [SEND] she glances over the words again, and feels her stomach plummet into the earth.

Even though she's alone in her bedroom, she gives into the compulsion to check for observers: Abed has switched to an old _Super Friends_ video game in the living room, and Troy should be in bed by now. The idea that they'd somehow intuit when she sends an unintentionally suggestive text message to Jeff is ludicrous, Annie knows this. Not even her roommates are that good. But the sensation of getting caught breaking a rule somewhere won't leave her gut, and she glances at the screen of the phone with her breaths short.

No reply.

Jeff's thinking about it, he has to be. He's going to remember the yam murder, and assume she's manipulating him again. Or worse—and here Annie begins to panic—he'll assume she means it.

Does she want him to assume that? He's not dating anyone, he said it himself this afternoon. Right after casually reminding her of their first kiss when she was a lovesick freshman.

"No," Annie says to the messenger screen. Then again, firmer, "No!"

No way in hell is she going down this road. Got the t-shirt, paid the fees in social humiliation one time too many. Dreams of being thoroughly kissed against the wall of her apartment or seduced in an elevator are just that: fantasies limited to the boundaries of her imagination. Annie spent a year mistaking that for reality, and it ended with finding out that he was secretly hooking up with Britta. Even two years later, when she dares to let her imagination out to play for a bit, she still ends up explaining herself to a host of hotel staff people, an alcohol-soaked Jeff, and a six-foot blond supermodel pretending to slum it with the geeks.

Checking her display, Annie stifles a groan. It's been four minutes, nearly an epoch in phone etiquette. If she corrects her mistake with too much denial, he'll know that she took a while to think about it. Then she'll know that he'll know that she's thinking about it. Both of them will be thinking about it and _both of them will know_ and Annie's not prepared to introduce yet another level of tension to her friendship with Jeff.

Inhaling deeply like they taught her to do in sophomore karate, she attempts to mitigate the damage as smoothly as possible.

**/ Just bring your books and prepare to learn! We have a quiz next week. /**

As if the universe wants to ensure that Annie's humiliation is unavoidable, Jeff's reply arrives less than a minute after she sends her text: **/ see you there /**


End file.
